The Surakarta/Chapter 21
XXI
MAX SCHIMMEL DOES SOME EXPLAINING
Max Schimmel bubbled suppressedly. It seemed, indeed, that his interest in the disappearance of the Surakarta had been a wholly impersonal and scientific interest, and that now he felt himself able to show how the emerald had been taken, he had quite forgotten the vital interest his hearers had in the actual recovery of the gem. He sobered himself after an instant, but it seemed only in deference to the questioning and suspicious gaze of the police officer.
"It iss not necessary to look at me, Mr. Boliceman," he commenced, "because the very first thing that I knew about this robbery wass when I read in the papers that the emerald had been stolen. It wass very wonderful—wass it not? At once eferybody—the bolice and others—wass inquiring: 'How did he who took the emerald go in and out where eferything wass locked?' Here where men are all and where men are fery much alike, they said, because they could not understand how it wass done: 'He wass clever—so clever!' And as my friendt, my landlord here, is so clever a man certainly, they said: 'May he not have done this thing?' But I, hafing the mind of the naturalist, I began to inquire of myself first: 'What, indeed, iss the order of intelligence that has done this thing?'
"The very first thing I saw wass that whoever had opened the box had been very, very stupid and had not been afraid. Loudly—so loudly that he woke up Baraka, who wass sleeping in the room—he tore the baper off the box into many strips, roughly and boldly, all round. This wass certainly very, very stupid. Would my clever landlord, Mr. Hereford, be so stupid? Also, it wass very, very fearless. Could he be so fearless? My friendts, I haf lived the most of my life in dark continents and in islands where there are millions of peoples so unhuman that you and peoples here will nefer know the truth about them, because nobody who has seen those peoples dares to write or print openly what he has seen. I have seen men of intelligence so low that it iss not easy to tell if they are animals or men—stupid as to tear bapers loudly away from a box: but I have nefer seen any man of intelligence so low that he did not know enough to be afraidt.
"But this one iss so stupid or so bold, too, that he continues without disturbance to open the box efen when a pistol iss many times fired at him. But at the same time he iss so clever that efen in the dark he knows how—quickly and without hesitation—to open the box, and how to go in and out of a room which iss locked, and so guickly to move that when the light is turned on, he hass disappeared. Then I re-read in the newsbaper that it wass not customary for the baper to be wrapped round the box; but only lately it hass been that way—therefore, by whoever opened the box, baper round the box was not expected.
"So I said to myself: 'Max, this iss not one intelligence; it is two intelligences—it iss a clever intelligence which has planned how this wass to be done and a stupid intelligence which has carried it out. And I changed the questions I wass asking myself like this: 'Max, who iss it that could be put into a locked room, and haf been taught to open the box, and could do all that was done in the way it wass done, and could disappear so guickly as not to be seen?'
"What do you mean?" the police officer demanded impatiently.
"I mean only," Max replied imperturbably, "that you should imachgine now, as I wass then imachgining that there could be such a one who could disappear when he had opened the box. Suppose there iss such a one, so stupid and so bold; still, how would he know in the dark that the box iss under the paper, so that he will tear the baper off and find it? With such an intelligence as I suppose, smell would be very strong. If it should be that the box has a smell, therefore, I am made much more sure. So I search for a smell."
"I remember," Hereford nodded.
"And to be sure, when I come to the box, it hass a smell of sandalwood! But then I must look for more. This one who opened the box iss very stupid, yet he opened the box very guick, very sure. He had been taught, therefore, upon such another box; and once hafing been taught, he must haf constant practice efery day or—so many are the motions to be made—he might soon forget. Before the one who put him into the room, would put him into the room that night, surely he would make certain he could open the practice box. So now I know that recently there has been another box—a dublicate box—very near. Now that the emerald has been taken that dublicate box would be destroyed; but wherever that box had been kept there would be still the stupid, if not also the clever, one who had done this thing. How then to find them!
"In that I am helped. Baraka has told how his pistol-shooting did not disturb him who opened the box. How could this be, only that the stupid one who had been taught to open the box had also been taught that nothing must disturb him? Not only has he been taught to open the box, but he has been made accustomed to open it whatefer iss done about him. Pistol-shooting iss, of course, the most likely thing to be done about him. At least, he has been trained not to mind pistol-shooting in any ways.
So, when I am thinking of this and speaking of it, I find that on the efening before a man—a Japanese—has been pistol-shooting in his room without reason. It iss not much difference in sound—Japanese or Javanese. So I get that man's address and I go to the house; and when he iss not in his room, I find there the other box—the dublicate box—the practice box. And I find as I had expected that this box has been made in Java. It has all come from Java, then—the secret of the box, him that knows how to open it, and the disappearing one to whom it has been taught.
"There iss left only one question, then. How did the disappearing one—the one able to make himself so small he cannot be seen—get into the room and get out? For, though I am sure such a one as iss not at all suspected has done this thing, still I am sure he must have a way in and out.
"So now I go back to my own room in that boarding house where I find that box, and I lie down upon my bed. I said to myself: 'Max, you are in Java, and you are the man hafing an almost disappearing one whom you may teach things. In the tower of the Soesoehoenan iss the Surakarta. Somehow you have come to know the manibulations of the box in which the emerald iss kept, and you haf made one like it so you can teach the disappearing one. Now, think what more you will do.'
"And I thought: 'There iss no window or opening of any kind into the room where the emerald iss except a door; and whenever that door iss opened there iss a strong guard whose eyes are sharp enough to see the disappearing one, for he cannot guite disappear. But sometimes things are put into that room—perhaps it iss a box; perhaps it iss a basket—which can be carried into the room; and I will teach the teachable one to stay inside that basket—guite still, so that nobody shall notice.
"'I will make it so that from the outside the box, or the basket, shall appear to be strongly locked; but on the inside it shall be made so that it will be quite easy for the disappearing one to make it fly open and fly shut as he wishes. And when he has been put into the room, and the door iss shut and locked again, he shall come out from his basket; and he shall open the box that has the emerald, and shall go back with the emerald into his basket. And then, when the door is open again, and there iss excitement over the loss of the emerald, the basket shall be carried out again—and the emerald will be in it.'"
Baraka exclaimed volubly. The police captain watched Max with narrowing eyes; Hereford and Lorine bent forward.
"Yes? But opserve now, my friendts. Before I can do this that I have planned I find that the emerald iss to be taken to America. Now I must go along until the chance comes to get the emerald; but if I carry my pupil in the basket then eferybody will say: 'What haf you got in the basket?' So now what shall I do? When I had got as far as that, mine friendts, I thought: 'What wass there in the room at the hotel in which one—even a disappearing one—could haf been?' There wass in the room the writing desk, and the bed, and the table, which belonged there; and there wass two suitcases, which a confederate among Baraka's suite could carry in and out.
"And when, at the boarding house, I saw the Javanese upon the stairs, he also had in his hand a suitcase.
"So I thought: 'That iss it; he shall be in a suitcase, which will not be noticed—only when I pass the customs officials shall there be clothes in that suitcase; for then I shall carry him wrapped in my cabaya—my coat, that iss."
"In the suitcase!" the police captain now demanded. "He—your pupil—the disappearing one! What do you mean?"
"Here, in this suitcase!" Max replied calmly. "Holding your watch now—has been taught him to take and hold whatefer iss in the box, efen when shot at with bullets so that he ran up the tapestry in his excitement before he remember to go back to the suitcase."
"A monkey!" Baraka exclaimed with excitement.
Max laughed. He knocked four times and the suitcase upon the floor beside him appeared to open of itself, revealing a simple arrangement of springs which controlled it and a little brown form which came forth.
"A monkey of Java!"
"So!" he confirmed, feeling in the suitcase until he found the watch and handing it back to the police captain. "Trained—as I made sure at the boarding-house—by the Javanese to come out from the suitcase when he hears knocks as I gafe them—so! Efery time he hear them he comes from the suitcase, he opens the box, takes what iss within, goes back to the suitcase and shuts himself in, and stays fery still—trained efen with shots, as I haf said; and so that efen when he wass hurt by the bullet"—Max pointed out the bandage upon one little brown forearm—"he returns to the suitcase and shuts himself in, and stays guiet.
"But do not think I haf done anything so wonderful in finding this; or that the monkey has done anything so wonderful in taking the Surakarta. For I am a naturalist, and so famous to naturalists are the monkeys of Java that it is enough only to mention the name of Java to a naturalist and he will think also of monkeys. And as for the monkey, his father and his father's fathers back as far as there haf been monkeys haf been so used to pulling off bark and lifting leaves to look for food that it hass been shown many times that a monkey, if gifen time enough, will learn without efen any instruction to open such a box as this—efen if it hass as high as thirty manibulations."
The police captain stared from the little German to his friend, and from him to the Javanese; but Baraka was still bent in curious examination of the monkey, an examination which seemed now suddenly to run to recognition. He started up.
"But it is Ukano!" he exclaimed.
"What is Ukano?" the captain demanded.
"The monkey is Ukano. It is his name. Oh, now everything is explain—I understand all!" Baraka cried in great excitement. "It is Ukano—the pet monkey of Alarna!"
Hereford looked quickly at Lorine; she, drawing herself erect, seemed—as he did—now to understand. Max also seemed to understand. Only the police captain looked uncomprehendingly round at all of them.
Baraka had controlled himself and now he bowed to the officer.
"Alarna is the wife—the favorite—of our Soesoehoenan," he explained excitedly. "Oh, how plain—now that we know it is Ukano!
"Listen!" he said, seeing the police captain did not yet understand. "In the time of the Soesoehoenan, the father of this Soesoehoenan, Alarna was a young girl, wonderful in her beauty—so soft skin! It seem through it a light was shining; dark eyes, like when water is seen at night by light of star. So all young men would have her for wife; but she would have none of them. The Soesoehoenan begins, then, to be sick with his last sickness; so it is for his favorite son he sends, to give him the great emerald which is the sign of the sovereignty of Surakarta. It is to Oxford he sends for his son—a young man only a little over twenty, tall, straight; not only a prince, but in his eyes that look which comes from seeing the great world. It is no surprise that at sight of him the beautiful eyes of Alarna are filled with all such thoughts as young girls have, and that gladly she becomes his wife—the favorite—to whom alone with the Soesoehoenan is known the secret to open the box of the emerald. But now pass a few years."
Baraka made a broad gesture, as though dismissing the years into eternity.
"But now pass a few years," he repeated. "You know what happen. Miss Regan comes; perhaps already the Soesoehoenan has thought too often of such as her—of the fair-skin women with whom he play tennis at Oxford. At least, soon after she goes the Soesoehoenan put away all his wives—even, and most of all, Alarna. Alarna gives no complaint; she gives no cry, no protest like the others. She is so proud; but no doubt, like the others, she weeps often in the night with jealousy of loving. She has not lost desire to be love. But nothing shows—nothing; only now, I remember, the little Ukano, the little clever, quick monkey, he is said to have escape—he is gone. So, without doubt, she made this clever plan as has been said. Rather than be put away she will destroy all things—the power, the throne—even the Soesoehoenan! The Surakarta—the great emerald in its box—is guarded always by men who will lose life before they lose the emerald. But she knew the secret of the box. Beyond doubt, when we are sent away with the emerald she sends the monkey to follow, choosing this American—James Annis—who for wealth will take risk and charge of all. With such a man, indeed she was desperate. If he got it never might the stone be returned to her; but she does not care—she plan only ruin, revenge by this theft, of which I have accuse Mr. Hereford and would have kill him!"
Max Schimmel turned to the police captain.
"Is the explanation enough?" he demanded.
"Quite," the officer replied. "We have now only to locate whatever Javanese confederates this Annis had here, and by confronting them with Annis force them to disclose what has become of the emerald."
Max Schimmel made a gesture which seemed to express at the same time derision and commiseration.
"Haf I not said it, my friendt!" he cried to Hereford. "Haf I not said to you the bolice are dunderheads! Now you see it—you see their stupidity in action; yes, in full oberation!"
He seemed overcome by the revelation, while all stared at him in amazement.